


There Are Terrible Things

by SaltCore



Series: We Get What We Deserve [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, I have overthought this video game plz send help, POV Second Person, Young Genji Shimada, Young Hanzo Shimada, crunchy meta under a thin chocolatey later of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 21:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltCore/pseuds/SaltCore
Summary: Hanzo is ready to claim his birthright, and he embarks on the rite of passage every Shimada has attempted since time immemorial. But you, Sojiro, hadn’t prepared yourself for the outcome.





	There Are Terrible Things

**Author's Note:**

> [SJWin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SJWin/pseuds/SJWin) said “You’re a fucking monster” and “Why can’t you let them be happy?” when I gave her this to proofread, so I think that means I did good.
> 
> (Title shamelessly lifted from Tanis and PNWS.)

                Hanzo stands before you, at an almost military attention, awaiting your approval. He is dressed in his most formal clothes, not a single fold out of place. His hair is tied up neatly, and the faint dusting of adolescent beard is shaved away. He has attended to every detail with a fastidiousness far beyond his years. He stares ahead, serious and unflinching. He gets that look from your wife; her mouth would turn down at the corners in the exact same way. That familiar mix of old grief and love and pride twists at your heart. You pat Hanzo on the shoulder gently.

                “Well done, my son. You are ready.”

                He looks up at you and nods, and there’s a relief in his eyes if you know what to look for. He is so afraid of being found wanting, though he rarely is. He is still playing at confidence, not yet old enough to have found it for himself, but you will happily play along until he does.

                Your younger son is fidgeting at your side. He darts forward when you step back and then pauses with his arms splayed, unsure. He settles for taking his brothers hands, rather than risking rumpling his attire with a hug, and squeezes.

                “Tell me about it when you get back?” Genji asks.

                Hanzo looks up at you, silently asking for permission. You wink. Hanzo frowns at you, but then Genji shakes both their hands to get his brother’s attention back.

                “ _C’mon_ ,” Genji wheedles.

                “I’ll tell you all the boring parts,” Hanzo says after a moment of consideration. He pulls one hand free and ruffles Genji’s hair. Genji ducks away and pouts.

                “Let your brother go, Genji, it’s time,” you say, gently tugging Genji to your side. “He’s going to make us proud.”

                Hanzo stands up to his full height, just shy of yours, and turns to face the Well. The cavern is a pitch black void in the earth in the fading daylight. Cool air drifts out like a breath, making the fine hair around your face dance and itch, a fierce contrast to the warm evening air in the rest of the garden. Hanzo walks into the dark without any hesitation or a backward glance. If your recollection holds, he won’t be gone for very long, but while he is gone he will be somewhere very far away. Time and distance are strange in the Well. You were happy to have only needed to venture into the depths once.

                The mouth of the cave sits hidden in a garden just inside the walls of the castle. It is usually barred with a heavy iron door, sealed tight until a Shimada begins to dream of dragon song. This is a very necessary precaution, because if someone outside of the bloodline were to wander in, they’d never come back out. In times past tribute would be sent in, thinking it would strengthen the dragons that live in those depths, but the practice was found to be as barbaric as it was ineffectual. The dragons need only a willing, strong host. Their power is limitless then.

                You lead Genji to a bench nearby. The evening is lovely and clear, and you’d like to be close when Hanzo returns. Besides, your presence will ensure no one wanders near. You’d hate to lose any of the staff, but if they interfere Hanzo could also be forfeit. Genji only stays at your side for a few minutes before the allure of the trees proves too much and he scampers off. He’s at the top of the nearest in a moment, and you can’t help but smile and envy his energy. He is like a little bird, flitting from branch to branch. Your baby sparrow.

                The wind picks up, stirring up the scent of the flowers and making the leaves of the other trees tremble in sympathy with the one Genji is clambering. It’s soothing, though it doesn’t absolve you of your worry. It’s been generations since a Shimada has failed to return from the Well, but there’s always a chance. The beasts in the Well are intolerant of weakness, devouring the unworthy and scouring them from the earth. You are confident Hanzo will earn their favor, despite being so young. He has a steel in his soul and a drive to match. He will be able to pay their price.

                Generations ago, your ancestors struck a deal with the dragon spirits, trading time for power. No one who has gone into the Well has lived into their seventies, and the most prolific assassins have perished before fifty. To be bonded as a host is to shorten your own life, but what a life it is. Trading a decade or two of decrepitude has always seemed a fair bargain to you. That had all been regarded as a kind of magic until the twentieth century, when medicine pulled back the veil. Exposure to the dragons causes cell damage, random errors in DNA, until runaway replication devours the host. The more philosophically inclined of your relatives have mused what it is the spirits actually gained from the bargain, but the benefit to the Shimadas has been obvious. So on it goes, your children venturing into the Well and coming out gods.

                “Dad! Watch!” Genji calls.

                “ _Genji_ ,” you say sharply in warning. Genji laughs and you see him leap from one tree to another. Enough of that. You haul yourself up into the tree after Genji and grab him around his middle. He squeals, but you bring him down with you anyway.

                “You’re no fun, Dad,” he whines.

                “You won’t be any fun either if you break your neck. Be kind to an old man and sit with me,” you say, sitting back on the bench.

                “You’re not _that_ old, Dad,” Genji replies, settling himself against your side.

                You tip your head and look for the few stars that can still be seen despite Hanamura’s light pollution. You think you should take your sons out to the country, so they can see them unobstructed. If you can make the time, you amend to yourself. You really ought to make the time.

                “When’s Hanzo going to be back?” Genji asks.

                “When he is finished.”

                “When do I get a turn?”

                “When you’re ready.” _And may it be many years from now_ you think, not unselfishly. Hanzo is young to be taking the trip into the Well, not the youngest, but younger than normal. You were sixteen when you went. You would hope Genji would enjoy a little more time before that kind of responsibility claims him.

                When you finally hear Hanzo’s voice, the moon has already risen and the electric lanterns have come on to fight the dark. Genji dozed off some time ago, sliding down until his head rested on your leg. You nudge him awake and get to your feet. You force yourself to adopt a casual pace, despite your desire to see for yourself that your son is safe. He is standing at the mouth of the Well. His hair is a little disheveled, but he’s much less muddy that the cousin that ventured in ten months ago. The hem of his left sleeve is a bit singed. He’s already closed the Well behind him.

                “I did it, father!” he says breathlessly. He’s grinning widely, despite how exhausted he looks. You come closer to get a better look and assuage your worry. He is fine.

                “Let me see!” Genji squeals, practically vibrating at your side. You squeeze his hand a little tighter to keep him close. Hanzo widens his stance, holding out his left arm. Hanzo won’t have control, and though the dragons are adept at distinguishing friend from foe, a newly minted host is a fairly dangerous creature. You can’t blame him for wanting to show off, despite the danger. If worst comes to worst, you can subdue his dragon with your own. A blue glow begins to emanate from inside his sleeve, and then it begins to build and take a long, crackling, serpentine shape.

                Then it does something strange. The shape splits, forming two distinct creatures. They twist in opposite directions, encircling Hanzo in blue light. He is breathing hard from the effort, open mouthed and wide-eyed with awe.

                Your heart drops to your stomach. You have always known that Hanzo was strong, that the Shimada blood ran fiercely in him, but you never dreamed that two dragons would choose him. Twice the exposure, twice the risk. He’ll be lucky to see his fortieth birthday.  You might out live him if he is not careful. He is just fourteen, barely out of boyhood, and now death is already bearing down on him.

                “Hanzo, stop,” you snap. The dragons’ forms begin to dissipate as Hanzo’s concentration falters, then the light winks out altogether.

                “Father?” he says, hurt and confused. You watch the glimmer of shame warp his expression before he can pack it away under a mask of neutrality. You’re instantly seized by regret. It isn’t his fault.

                You walk forward, pull Hanzo into your arms. He’s thin, wiry, still a child in so many ways. You can remember vividly your wife holding him just after his birth, a tiny newborn so fragile and precious. It seems like the time from then to now passed too quickly.

                “Come, you should rest. You should both rest,” you say. You pull back but you keep one arm around Hanzo’s shoulders. You hold out your other hand, and Genji comes to take it. The night suddenly seems so much colder.

                Hanzo’s shoulders are stiff, expecting censure. You relax you grip a little, wondering if you’d been hurting him. Genji is subdued on your other side. You wished you’d made him stay behind. You wish he wasn’t your son. What if the same thing happens to him? You don’t think you could bear it if you buried them both.

                You walk Genji to his room first, watch him lay down to sleep (knowing full well he’ll be up again when he thinks he can get away with it), and then take Hanzo to his. He’s holding his head up high and proud, but you can still tell he’s scared. You know your son, know he’s examined every moment since you sent him into the Well for his error. He might have found something to chastise himself over, because from the moment you snapped at him he will have assumed there must be something to chastise. That you were afraid would never enter his calculus.

                You slide back the door to his room and wave him through ahead of you. The staff have already laid out his bedding and his sleeping clothes. You see Hanzo glance at them, maybe a little longingly, and feel a pang of sympathy. He must be so tired.

                “I’m sorry, Father,” he says, bowing low. No excuse, no whining. It normally makes you proud, but now it just makes you hurt.

                “You have nothing to apologize for,” you say. He snaps his head to look up at you, confused. “Sit, Hanzo.”

                He drops to the floor so quickly it makes your knees hurt. You sit as well, and take a moment to look at him, really _look_. He’s losing that roundness in his face, and it turns that solemnity that was so endearing on a little child into something far too adult. His nose is just like your wife’s, as is the set of his mouth. You used to tease her about it, _a matched set, the two of you frowning at me_. Sometimes it would even coax out one of her rare smiles. _Then he already has more sense than his father, so you are a lucky man_. You loved your wife dearly, but she was wrong. You are many things, but lucky has never been one of them.

                “It has been a long, long time since anyone was strong enough to bear two dragons,” you say. It’s true, and high praise, and Hanzo deserves to hear it. You want to tell him so many other things, and you want to shield him from the knowledge of what will happen. But there’s nothing you can do to protect him now, and you owe it to him to make him understand. “But it is a heavy burden. The dragons are dangerous to us, and with two you are in more danger than anyone else.”

                “I’m not afraid, Father,” he says, and he’s telling the truth. He’s too young to really understand, he won’t know what he should have feared until it’s far too late.

                “No, no, you’re not. Will you promise me something, Hanzo?”

                “Of course,” he says, without hesitation.

                “Do not rely on this power you’ve gained unless you must. You more than anyone else will have to pick your moments wisely, and do not let anyone goad you into action unnecessarily. You are strong enough without them.”

                Hanzo nods, serious. Always such a serious boy. You reach out and draw him into your arms again. This time he reaches back. It’s been too long since you held him like this, and you only have yourself to blame. He yawns into your chest.

                “That’s enough talk for now. Go to sleep, you’ve earned it.”

                “Yes, Father,” he mumbles. You get up and leave him to his nightly routine. As you walk down the halls to your room, you hear the sound of footsteps on the porch outside, light and quick. That’ll be Genji, heading to pester his brother. You hope he doesn’t keep Hanzo up for very long, for both their sakes.

                You left your phone on your desk in your suite. You pick it up. You have messages from your siblings, aunts, and uncles, all wanting to know the result. A short while ago you were looking forward to telling them Hanzo had claimed his birthright, was truly the heir apparent, but now the thought fills you with dread.

                They’ll be ecstatic at the news. To have a weapon like your son at their disposal is more than any of you have ever thought to hope for. Hanzo is well suited to leadership and you know the clan would be well kept in his hands, but you wonder if the others will begin to think otherwise. If they will begin to look to Genji to take up your mantel, and consider sending Hanzo to obliterate their enemies. It will be the death of him, but it could transform your family’s fortunes, and in the end that’s all that will matter.

                The thought makes you angry—Hanzo wasting away before he must, Genji with nothing but three urns for confidants. You have never loathed your lot, never wanted to shirk your duty, but now you’re more heartsick and miserable than you’ve been since you interred your wife’s ashes. There’s a part of you, bitter and rebellious, that wants to curse whoever was foolish enough to treat with the things in the cave.

                You turn the phone off, and flip it onto its face for good measure. Then you pull open a drawer and take out the bottle sitting in the back. All alone, you drink and finally let yourself weep for your son. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, but like, what if the Shimada dragons are unknowable eldritch horrors? Have we, as a fandom, considered that? Can we, oh please, can we?
> 
> hmu at https://saltytothecore.tumblr.com/ if you wanna scream about Shimada dragons I have so many headcanons.
> 
> also, long, very rambling explanation of my thoughts on the dragons, especially wrt to this series [here](https://handstitchedcircuitboards.tumblr.com/post/165696916573/okay-i-am-totally-digging-your-idea-of-the).


End file.
